


An Ocean Between Us

by scarletspider



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, sergeant james barnes, stuckyfluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletspider/pseuds/scarletspider
Summary: Admitting your feelings to your best friend is hard enough. But when Bucky ships off to England and Steve is left to fend for himself in Brooklyn, letters just aren't enough to express what they are really feeling.





	1. One Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> My first work, and I adore Stucky! I will be updating as much as possible, I just love writing about my two favorite boys :)))))
> 
> my twitter is @scareletspider :)

Picking himself off the ground, he looks up at Bucky. "You get your orders?" Bucky tilts his chin up proudly, 

"107th, Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow."

Steve tries to hide the disappointment on his face. He had hoped desperately that Bucky wouldn't be fit to join, but he knew that was a long shot. Bucky was the epitome of health, and Steve couldn't't have been more jealous. Bucky grabbed Steve's shoulder playfully,

"Don't you go gettin' all sorry on me, Rogers." 

Steve scoffed. "As if."

Swinging his arm around Steve's shoulder, Bucky grinned. 

"I bet you're weepin' on the inside right now. Gettin' all melancholy." Steve laughed.

"Melancholy? That's an awful big word for you Sargeant Barnes. What pretty lady taught you that one?"

"I'm just as smart as you, you know." Bucky flashed his playboy smile, "Older too."

"Oh come off it." 

Steve shoved Bucky away as he laughed. As much as Steve would hate to admit it, he'll miss Bucky. It had been ages since he'd lived alone, and thinking about it made his stomach churn. Their time living together hadn't been easy, but even in the rough spots Bucky had always pulled through and made life manageable. 

"You gonna come with me tonight?" Bucky asks, pulling Steve out of his thoughts.

"Where we goin'?" Steve was used to this, Bucky always had a date lined up with some lucky lady, and he had a habit of dragging Steve along with him. From his uniform pocket, Bucky pulls out a pamphlet, and hands it to Steve, grinning,  
'Oh God,' thought Steve, 'there's that smile again.'  
Bucky turns dramatically,

"The future."

The night turned out exactly as Steve had expected it to. The Stark convention would have been interesting, if it weren't for the two giggling girls practically tripping over themselves for a chance at Bucky. He could never understand what Bucky sees in them, desperate was not a good look on a girl. After the night was over they headed home. Tonight, Bucky opted out of inviting one of the ladies upstairs, trying to be considerate of Steve. Besides, he had other things on his mind.

"How's the hand, Stevie?" Bucky called over his shoulder, finishing up his shave at the tiny sink they shared. Steve gets into so many fights, Bucky wouldn't be surprised if his knuckles were permanently scarred. Today's scruff was with a regular, some of the local boys who Steve claims are always making trouble. 

"It'll be fine, Buck. I'm more worried about you right now to be honest." He didn't want to say it, but what better time would he have? His best friend was about to be shipped off to England doing God knows what, and Steve was supposed to just sit at home like some mediocre housewife? Not on his watch.  
Bucky sighed. 

"Steve..." He trailed off. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Steve behind, but what choice did he have? When he first told him of his deployment, Steve had been spitting mad.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, Buck?" Steve had yelled at him for a while that morning, but now he was back for more. Tears had welled up into his eyes and he turned to hide his face. "If I had known...oh God if I had known sooner. I'm- I'm sorry, Buck." Before he could turn away, Bucky grabbed him. 

"Oh Stevie..." Bucky pulled Steve into his shoulder as he let out a stifled sob. They stood there for a while, wrapped around each other as Bucky consoled his lifelong best friend. When Steve had calmed down, Bucky nudged him.  
"Hey..." He whispered, and Steve looked up. Taking Steve's face in his hands, he wiped away a tear with his thumb. He looked at his lifelong best friend, "'Till the end of the line, remember?"

 

Bucky joins Steve in the dining room where he sits at their tiny table, brow furrowed in concentration as he wordlessly shades in his sketchbook. Tension had been building between the two as the date of Bucky's deployment loomed closer, and Bucky hated it. He wanted nothing more than to wake up tomorrow morning and make breakfast while Steve sat on their balcony, listening to the sounds of the waking city. 

"Hey." Says Bucky, pulling out a chair next to Steve, who barely looks up from his drawing. "Hey." Bucky says a little louder this time, forcing Steve to look up at him. Steve sighs.

"Whaddya want, Buck?" He was going to make this harder than it has to be, Steve knew it. Couldn't he tell this was already hard enough as it is? 

"I want to know what the hell is going on with you!" Bucky' sudden change of volume startled Steve, he wasn't usually the type to yell, but I guess the situation calls for a different Bucky.  
Seeing his expression, Bucky softens. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean to explode on you. It's just-" Bucky sighs, "It's just that, I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Whaddya mean, Buck?" 

"I mean, who knows how long it will be? And if I will ever see you again? I'm barely ready as it is and now they're sending me across seas, off to fight God knows what and I just can't do it Stevie." He takes a breath and keeps talking. "I don't want to leave you, and I know we made sure you would have enough money but what if something happens? Your art can help you but you know how rough times are... Oh God Steve if you need anything you better send me a goddamn letter. And if I find out that you've been holding out on me I swear-" 

"Buck." Steve interrupts him. "You can't be serious right now." Bucky pulls himself out of his rambling and realizes that he's standing. "Oh..." Bucky trails off. He walks back to the table and sits down next to Steve, who's looking at him with concern. He's embaressed. He didn't mean for all that to slipperier out and welp- there they were. 

"Buck. I need you to know..." Steve takes a deep breath, he looks shaken by Bucky's words. Bucky's never seen him like this before, and it makes him nervous. Steve opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, changing his mind. He contemplates his words for a second, then says, "You know I'll be okay. But you need to promise me something." He scoots closer to Bucky and takes his much friend by the shoulders. He sniffs, and the lump in his throat is getting increasingly harder to ignore. Bucky's eyes bore a hole into his heart, and he's convinced his friend can see right through him. "Please, Buck..." He breaks down. He gasps as if he doesn't remember how to breathe, choking sobs taking over his body as it jolts unwillingly. 

"Steve..." Bucky takes the smaller boy into his arms, rubbing his back in an attempt to calm the hiccups that have flared up. He hears the boy continue to gasp, and he lunges over him to grab his inhaler.

"Here, Stevie. Deep breathe for me. It'll be alright."  
Steve inhales slowly as he compresses the canister, gaining back some of the breath in his lungs. He coughs, and then collapses back into Bucky's arms.  
"Shhh, shhhh. It's okay, I'm here." Bucky holds him, protecting him from the terrible world that lingers outside of the small apartment they sit in. As long as Steve is in his arms, he knows nothing can hurt him, not on his watch.  
Steve looks up, and Bucky swears he can see star's in that boy's eyes.

"Promise me you'll come back?" He looks so innocent. Bucky hates lying to him.

"I promise."


	2. Off to Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky misses home, all the while dreading the journey ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Kinda short, but felt like I found a good place to end it so I just went with it. This is kinda sad and I feel bad writing it, but I do what I gotta do hahah. :)

It had been weeks since Bucky last heard from Steve, and he was starting to worry. In his last letter, he talked extensively of home, and Bucky could see him picture-perfect in his head. His eyes lighting up, the soft red blush on his cheeks from being outside in the cold for a tad too long, his blonde hair glistening in the light that came in through the balcony window. God, what Bucky wouldn't give to see that Steve right now. 

Mail day was coming up next week, and he prayed to the Lord himself that Steve had sent him a letter. His mind immediately went to the worst case; he pictured Steve curled ups on their small bed, his sickly pale body convulsing with coughing fits as his heart beats slower, and slower, and slower. 

'Snap out of it, James' Bucky scolds himself in his head. 'You've got shit to do.'

While putting on his uniform he forces himself to think not of Steve, but of the grueling mission ahead of him. It was day one hundred and seventy six since he had been deployed, and he's moved around quite a bit. Right now he's ended up in Lyon, France, but they've got quite the journey ahead of them. They need to be in Paris by the end of the week, and it was almost 300 miles away. Like most, Bucky dreaded the walk. Mud clogging up your boots, the heavy pack digging into the crook of your back, the stiff neck that never goes away. A seemingly never-ending expedition without an end in sight, it's enough to make any man go crazy. But that's not half of it. By far, the worst part was the smell. 

The smell.

Oh, the smell. The smell of dirt and blood caked the inside of your nostrils for weeks. The lingering scent of fire was constantly in the air, sizzling away at your nose hairs and causing your head to ache; and the crisp taste of metal was always on your tongue. 

But there was another smell. 

It was always in the air, always followed Bucky no matter where he went. He could never place it until he rounded a corner at base one day and saw a pile of bodies, stacked up at least 6 people high. He watched as a soldier doused them in gasoline. He turned away as he lit the match. 

It was the smell of death.

It's lingers everywhere. 

It suffocates every oraface, covers every piece of clothing, cloths the eyes of every man who has laid their eyes upon it. Some choose to ignore it. Others choose to face it. But the punch in the gut reminder follows you everywhere you go, and Bucky isn't immune. 

Trudging out of his tent he meets his friends (and fellow soldiers) Dugan and Morita, who both share the same grimace as they turn and walk to get their morning rations. They are silent as they walk, yet they all know what the others are thinking. No one's looking forward to this journey, but that's not the end of it. They're trudging deep into enemy territory, and one cannot help but think about the families they all have left back home. 

Once breakfast is done the men begin to load up their packs, preparing themselves for the rough journey ahead. They walk single file, heads held high as they march willingly into the unknown. The days pass slower than usual, and Bucky's tired. He can feel a constant ache in his left quad that he knows isn't supposed to be there, and if he stands up for too long his vision starts to go blurry. 

"Hey Barnes," Dugan calls. He's always the one to pull the group back up, whether it be with his tacky jokes or innapropriate comments, and it works. Some of the time. "Barnes!" 

Bucky looks up.

"Whatter ya thinkin bout?" He looks at Bucky expectantly, as if his answer to the question was going to be any different than every other man here. Nevertheless, Bucky answers him. 

"Home." He says, sighing into his words. What else was there to think about? Was he supposed to think about the enemy? The lack of food? Or maybe he was supposed to think about the hole in his leg, where he was shot last week by some sonofabitch Kraut who decided it was a good idea to stand off alone against their whole infantry. 

Dugan mirrors Bucky's sigh. "Me too, Barnes. Me too." His usual optimism drops from his eyes as he looks off into the distance, surveying the journey ahead. They're silent for a while, listening to the rhythmic thud of their boots in the dirt and kicking the occasional rock down the road, until Dugan turns to him.

"You got a girl back home Barnes?" 

"Not really." Bucky kicks a small rock, jamming his toe into the ground in the process. "Fuck..." He mutters under his breath, worried of falling behind the pack.

Dugan smiles at him. "I've seen you at meals, Barnes. The way your eyes gloss over and your head tilts to the side, ignoring your food in favor of the memory in your head." He sighs. "I'm the same way. My girl Dorothy was awfully upset at me leavin', and things kinda ended on rough terms. Despite all that, I still love and miss her with all my damn heart." He takes a cigarette out of his coat pocket and Bucky pulls out a light, offering it to him. "Don't you worry, Barnes. I bet your gal is head over heels for you. Wouldn't dream of being with someone else even while you're overseas." Dugan takes a drag, then offers it to Bucky who takes a long puff, then sighs. 

"I sure hope so."


	3. Starving Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to go about his normal life without Bucky, and it's damn well near impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love pre-serum Stevie with all my heart. He deserves the world <3

His own chattering teeth wake him from a restless sleep as he curls tighter into a ball, desperately pulling away from the frigid breeze of the world outside of his bed. The clock reads four am, and the sounds of the city flow through his window and straight into his heart. The quiet honking of horns and rumble of engines from the street below are something of a comfort for Steve, if he even has any of those anymore. 

One hundred and seventy-six days. It had been one hundred and seventy-six days since he last heard Bucky's bold laugh, or seen the crooked smirk that forms on the side of his lips when he knows that he's right. One hundred and seventy-six days since Bucky last picked him up from their couch where he had fallen asleep and wordlessly carried him to his bedroom, not wanting his friend to risk getting a cold. One hundred and seventy-six days since he heard his obnoxious singing coming from their tiny bathroom, followed by a loud bang and a cruse as he drops something whiles he's in the shower. One hundred and seventy-six days.

Not that he's been counting. 

He rolls out of bed and throws on his clothes for class, ignoring the now dusty side of the closet that houses all of Bucky's civilian clothing. He silently goes throughout his morning routine as he has always done, brushing his teeth and washing his face, before walking into the small kitchen to grab some food before he hits the road. He opens the cupboards to find a few potatoes, 2 slices of bread, and a leftover can of spam he had left there the night before. He grabs the container and shoves it into his backpack before heading out the door, slamming and locking it behind him. 

The city engulfs him, it captures his every last breath as he walks up the mountain of stairs to the doors of the Pratt Institute, his home away from home. How he can still afford to take classes there he doesn't know, every day could be his last. His commissions make decent money, but the money Bucky left behind from his job at the docks was dwindling, and Steve needed to find a solution, and fast. 

He's the first to the classroom, even before the teacher, and as he swings open the door he stops for a moment to takes in the grandeur of the space. The smell of chalk and acrylic floods his nose, pencil shavings litter the floor and works in progress are scattered across the room. The smell of new sketchbooks floats around him as he heads over to his favorite seat, far left, front row, where he and Bucky used to sit together in elementary school. It had become a habit of some sorts, sitting there, and one that was quite hard to break at that. He sure as hell wasn't going to stop now. 

The emptiness of the room comforts him in an odd way, and he's at peace as he pulls out his sketchbook and begins working on a drawing he started earlier that week. It was a portrait, like most of his works were, and it's Bucky. He shades the dark line of his jaw bone and works on darkening the eyebrows that bring out the grey specks in his blue eyes. He surveys his work so far. The hair is fluffed up, not gelled back like he always had it when he was out in public. Bucky hated his natural hair, but Steve adored it, and drew it in every portrait of him that he could. Bucky wears a plain white tee-shirt that hugs his strong-built shoulders naturally, and he looks at ease, almost relaxed. The scruff of his beard is ever so present, like it is when he forgets to shave every third day, and his lips are curled up ever so slightly, forming his signature smirk. 

Steve jerks his head up from the table when he hears the slam of the door, and he sees the instructor walk in. 

"Mr. Rogers," She sang, her voice sweet and high. "Always good to see you here bright and early." She smiled a deep, warm smile, her eyes scrunched and Steve could see the lines forming on his face. He would have to draw that soon.

"Nice to see you as well, Miss Hadler." He turns to continue his work, but she has other ideas. 

"Please, call me Kate." She chuckles to herself, maybe at the thought of being called 'Miss Hadler', or maybe at something else, Steve wouldn't know. All he knows is that he wants to get back to his drawing. Bucky's left eye is little off, and he can't quite tell why. As he's pondering his situation, Miss Hadler-Kate, walks over to Steve's table and peers down at him as he works.

"You know, I always see you drawing this one boy, but I've never seen him a day in my life." She straightens the easel sitting on Steve's left, and promptly takes a seat next to him. "Is he famous or something?"

Steve chuckled. "He'd like to think he is, but ask anyone else and they'll tell ya straight." Bucky had always been like that; charming and cocky, but cocky in such a way that made everyone around him trip on their own feet. Everyone except Steve, that is. 

Kate matched his chuckle. "Sounds like a guy I'd like to meet. Maybe you'll introduce me someday."

Steve thinks of Bucky, and how he's probably huddled under a mud covered tarp with gunfire raining down on him, while he yells instructions over the blasts. "Maybe someday." He says, turning away to hide the sad look in his eye.

 

Class begins soon after and Steve loses himself within the process. They were working with acrylic paint today, hence the smell when Steve walked in. He loved the way the canvas felt underneath his brush, and swirled clouds into the sky of his landscape with a small grin on his face. It was the happiest he's been in weeks. For just a moment, he was able to forget about missing Bucky, as impossible as it seemed. Kate began to wrap up class and pulled Steve out of his bubble. Packing up his things with everyone else, his mind automatically wandered back to Bucky. He wonders if he's thinking of him right now. He hopes he's safe. Oh, God please let him be safe. He closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer. This was common for Steve nowadays, common for everyone. Everywhere you looked there was news from the front lines, with people lining up desperately to see if their loved one had been the one to die. He dreaded getting the mail because he was terrified that one day, a telegram was gonna show up at his door. He couldn't bear read the words. Steve can picture it in his head.

"I have been asked to inform you that your relative, Sargeant James Buchanan Barnes has been reported dead in Paris, France at 0700 on August 26, 1930. He was killed sacrificing his life for his team. On the behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss."

He shudders at the thought.

'Stop it, Steve' He tells himself. 'He'll be okay.'

He keeps telling himself that, and he prays that he's right. 

'Oh, God. Be safe Bucky. For me.'


	4. The Masked Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's unit is under attack, he needs to find a way out of the line of fire, and quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude I swear to God if one more person tells me Bucky is a villain I'm gonna go apeshit.

All he can hear is the ringing in his ears as his back slams against the dirt, knocking the wind out of him. His side aches from an unknown injury and passing boots kick his head as they run away from an unseen threat. Gunfire can be heard all around; you can sense the fear in the air. 

 

Bucky rolls over on his side and tries to push himself up, but a spasm in his left arm sends him tumbling back to the ground. 

 

'Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.'

 

He rolls into the small patch of grass to the right of him and takes cover. Ripping off the revenants of his shirt he can see 3 bleeding wounds, supposedly that of a knife.

 

'Who the fuck stabbed me?'

 

His thoughts are interrupted as an explosion nearby causes him to duck down for cover, his left arm continuing to spasm as he does so. He can feel the blood pounding in his ears, and black spots dance in his vision as he reaches in his pack for a med kit. 

 

'Don't pass out, don't pass out, don't you fucking pass out don't fucking do it.'

 

As quickly as possible, he bandages himself and reloads his gun before another explosion has the chance to happen. Peeking his head up over the tall grass, he can see the line of masked soldiers charging toward him. Their faces are covered by what Bucky can only describe as a muzzle, and they wear thick black goggles, the only exposed part of their face being their forehead. All black uniforms hide their figures, and they are weighed down by packs and pockets full of God knows what. The woman on the far left raises her gun and Bucky has a split second to duck back down, he hears the bullet whir over his head.

 

'Goddamn Nazis'

 

A bullet whistles by his left ear.

 

'Come on, James.'

 

He pushes himself on his knees.

 

'Come ON, JAMES!'

 

He springs to his knees with a newfound burst of energy and takes off.

 

He sprints with a ferocity unknown to him until today. His chest heaves as his legs tangle together and he stumbles along, body not able to keep up with the unfamiliar of the speed of his legs. More bullets buzz by, and he forces himself to keep going. He attempts to look behind him, all he sees is a blur of black and another bullet pass by. 

 

He doesn't know how long he's been running. All he knows is he hasn't stopped. He makes a split second decision and he finds himself ducking down into the thick bushes surrounding the path around him. Going completely still, he listens for the sound of footsteps, shuffling, anything. But he doesn't hear it. He stays silent for a while, not trusting whoever was behind the mask that was chasing him. After an hour of nothing, he decides it's safe to move.

 

After taking a swig from his water and checking his ammo, he realizes he has no idea where the hell he is, or where anyone is for that matter. He looks around for an identifying feature but comes up empty. The only thing around him is thick brush and the shade from the canopy of trees overtop of him. He doesn't remember entering the woods. 

 

He reluctantly gets up and walks in the direction he came running from. The shuffle of his boots is a sound so familiar it could put him to sleep, and it practically was. Looking around, he searches for anybody. He feels eerily alone in the dense woods, and it was getting dark fast. The last thing he wanted was to have to camp out alone in enemy territory.

 

 

 

'It's my lucky fucking day.' He thinks to himself as he rolls out his sleeping bag. He had found a small clearing surrounded by dense trees and brush, so he parked himself on the edge and decided to get some sleep for once in his life. He doesn't know what time it is, and he doesn't have a watch, but his extensively limited knowledge from boy scouts tells him that it's past 10pm, as it's summer and the sun has finally dropped. He's exhausted. If there was a mirror in his pack right now, he would purposefully avoid it. Dark circles traced his eyes and the scruff of his beard grows longer than it ever has. He hasn't had a haircut since he shipped out, and he could practically pull it into a ponytail by now. He looks at the cuts on his hands, the dirt dug underneath his fingernails. He's in rough shape, but he'll live. 

 

Settling down into his sleeping bag, he thinks of home. He misses the sounds of the city floating in through his window, accompanied by the honking of horns and the occasional shout of a drunk straggler late in the night. He never thought it would be anything but a nuisance to him, but here he is. He shivers under his uniform, and he misses the comforting warmth of Steve curled in his arms. He almost laughs out loud thinking of it. Those damn winters in Brooklyn would get so cold they had no choice but sleep together, or else they'd freeze. Steve would mumble in his sleep sometimes. Bucky slept like the dead, so he was seldom ever awake to hear it, but sometimes he caught it. One cold January night, Bucky had gotten home late from the docks to find Steve shivering in his bed, curled around himself in a desperate attempt to get warm. He looked deathly cold, so without thinking, Bucky crawled up behind him and wrapped him up so his back pressed against his chest. Steve barely opened his eyes as he looked behind him.

 

"MmmmBucky?" He mumbles.

 

"Yeah, it's me Stevie." Bucky whispers in his ear, pushing the hair away from his eyes. "Go back to bed, okay?' 

 

Steve was half asleep, and he probably doesn't even remember saying it, but as he turned back over he mumbled something that Bucky will never forget.

 

"Mmmm I love you, Buck."

 

Bucky freezes. Does he mean what he thinks he means? They had been best friends since the beginning of time, but Bucky thought his lifelong crush on Steve Rogers had been a well-hidden secret, shared only by him and his sister, Becca, whom he told everything to. Bucky eventually decided that it had meant nothing. Of course they loved each other, they were friends since first grade! But he still can't shake the feeling in his chest as he pulls Steve closer to him. Steve wraps his arms around the larger boy, and Bucky whispers, barely audible. 

 

"I love you too."

 

The memory brings Bucky to tears. Oh, how he missed Steve. With the rejuvenating thought in his mind, he shoots up out of his sleeping bag. He has a letter to write.


	5. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's first letter to Steve.

Dear Stevie,

 

This letter is a long time coming, I should have written it the day I met you. 

 

You remember that day, don't you? I sure do. One of my first memories is saving your scrawny ass from getting into fights you can't win. These 2 older boys had cornered you behind the school, and I had just happened to be walking by. I wasn't even the one to see you, it was Becca. She had pulled on my shirt and pointed down the alley towards you. The boys didn't even have a reason to be fighting you, I guess they just saw an opportunity to let off some steam. Oh gosh, you had tried to put up a fight, Stevie. Always had and always will. You were a bit bruised up, but other than that you were alright. I took you back to my place where my mama fussed over you and bandaged you up. I remember after you left, she pulled me aside and whispered to me, "That there is a special kind of boy, he's got that gleam on him. Don't you dare let him walk out of your life Jame Buchanan," So I didn't. 

 

I hope you've been good, Steve. Don't bother askin' me in your next letter how I'm doin' cause you know good as anyone I ain't doin' well. I don't know a guy out here who is. If I meet one, God bless his soul, I'll be sure to send you a letter right away to show you we still got some hope left for us out here. 

 

That's not the reason I wrote you this letter though, Rogers. 

 

You need to find someone, Stevie. I almost died today, and all I was thinking about was that goddamn telegram they would have to send you back in Brooklyn. I know you think you're capable on your own, and I know you are. But at some point, it's about comfort, not survival. You deserve to be able to settle down with whatever dame you want, not worrying about me gettin' my brains blown out every other day. Truth is, Stevie, I'm gonna die out here. I've made friends, rookie mistake, and lost them within twenty-four hours. I've seen men mourn for men they've known less than five minutes, only because they're the only ones left to mourn them. I knew the second I got the draft letter that I couldn't be honest with you. You would be more heartbroken than me knowing that I didn't even want to go when you spent your entire adult life trying to join the army. So I lied. Yeah, I know, I know, dick move but what could you expect me to do? I didn't want to leave you. That was the worst part. I sat awake in my bed every night and tried not to picture you alone in the apartment, sick or injured, without me to help you. 

 

I hope-no, I need you to go find yourself a girl who's gonna love you forever, Stevie, cause I don't think I'm gonna be around to do it. I hope you know how much love you deserve. I tried to give it to you, man, I loved you the second your scrawny little butt walked down my apartment steps and into the cold. I've loved you harder than I ever thought was possible, and I don't care who knows. Some people say they screen our mail before we send it, but I don't fucking care. The whole damn world can know I'm a queer before I ever stop loving you. I'll love you until I'm six feet under, or if I'm captured and taken prisoner. You're the one solid thing in my life Stevie, and I wish it could stay that way. But you deserve someone there with you, not some queer who's probably gonna die within the next week. 

 

I'm in love with you, Steven Grant Rogers. Since the day I met you and 'till the day I die. It's you. It always was, and always will be. 

 

-Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo Bucky is in LOVE love with Steve am I right??


	6. S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit short for my liking, but I felt like I ended it in a good place. Bucky chapter coming soon!

Time goes by slower with each passing day. Every day feels the same, a carbon copy of the one before it. The chill of winter adds a bitter bite to the air, another reason to just stay at home and draw in his sketchbook all day. His body is uncharacteristically healthy, it's his mind that needs the help. 

It's been 6 months since he last received a letter from Bucky, and to say he was worried is an understatement. Steve's last letter to him had been frantic, scrawling out words as fast as they flew into his brain.

 

Bucky,

If you get this, please oh please send me a letter, something, anything. It's been too goddamn long and I swear to God if you're out there somewhere I'm gonna find you. I don't give a damn who reads this letter. Whoever reads this, find him. You better fucking be alive Barnes. I can't live in a world without you.

 

He closes his eyes to stop the tears from soaking the paper as he folds it and puts it in an envelope. Lately, his feelings had been too overwhelming to deal with, so he just tried to immerse himself into anything he could find. He'd drawn about a thousand commissions within the past week, though he was still barely scraping up enough money for groceries. He took more walks in the past week than he ever had in his entire life. He can hear Bucky berating him in his head every time he puts on his coat and steps outside, 

'Stevie, I swear you never listen. It's freezing out there, I don't want you to get sick.' 

Steve would reply in his head.

'Yeah, says the guy who forcibly made me ride the cyclone at coney island. Where was the concern for my health then?'

He does this a lot, making up conversations between himself and Bucky, it helps the pain is his chest feel a little looser. His therapist says it's normal. That people have lot's of different ways to deal with grief. That's what she said. Grief. The minute she said those words Steve went into hysterics. 

"No! Don't say that!" He stood up out of his chair and kicked it behind him. Despite his small frame, he could be quite loud. 

"Steven, please sit down-" 

"No, I won't! Don't ever say that again!" He stood over her, fuming, holding back tears.

"I'm- My apologies Steven. Please have a seat."

That was the last time Steve had had what she called an "episode". He doesn't even know why he's supposed to go to her, anyway. When he had been diagnosed with severe anxiety and recommended to a professional, he just added it to the long mental list of doctor's he was required to visit. Truth was, he hates being the sick person. Poor Steve, he must be so sad he can't go and do the things the other men can. Poor Steve can't join the army, can't get a job, can't do anything. He was fed up with that bullshit.

Later, he took the journey into the cold to deliver his letter to the post office. as much as he hated it, Bucky was right. He did have to bundle up when weather was like this. Today had dropped below freezing and Steve was dreading crawling into bed tonight, it was always so cold and lonely at night. 

The post office was about a mile away, and God knows he can't afford a taxi, even for that short of a trip, so walking it is. He passes by run down corner stores and flower shops that have closed up for the season, kids roughhousing in the snow, probably just trying to forget about all the trouble going on in the world. It reminds him of Bucky, but then again, everything seems to nowadays. About twenty freezing-cold minutes later, he arrives. He drops off the envelope quickly, but decides to hang back for a few minutes to warm up before the walk back home. He wandered around the lobby, looking at posters and PSA's, until something caught his eye. 

It was a large poster, larger than the others, and in the bottom left stood a strange logo that Steve had never seen before. At the top, in large bold letters, were the words "BECOME A RECRUIT" and below it it read,

"Do you want to help our soldiers overseas, but can't join the army? Join us! S.H.I.E.L.D. is a new defense operative aimed at supporting the war through intelligence operations, if you think you have the right qualifications, apply today!" 

Below was a mailing address, and a signature of the apparent director of founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., someone named Margaret. Steve couldn't care less who found it, he was practically jumping out of his socks. He asked the lady at the desk for some paper and a pen, and frantically wrote down the address. He had a different hop in his step on the way back to his apartment, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He finally felt like he could do something. Maybe finally make a real change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter is @scareletspider by the way! All the stevebucky content you could ever dream of :)


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